


Raw around the edges

by Banashee



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [10]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Best Friends, Clint Barton Gets a Hug, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Crying, Deaf Clint Barton, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Mission, Protective Phil Coulson, Rape Aftermath, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:47:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24359080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banashee/pseuds/Banashee
Summary: Clint is finally home after his recent trip to hell, but things are hard on him. Thankfully though, he's got Phil, who he can always count on.*+~Part 10 of my Bad Things Happen BingoSquare: Cry into chest
Relationships: Clint Barton & Phil Coulson
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1701046
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Raw around the edges

**Author's Note:**

> Hi,  
> so, because I love a good writing challenge, I'm now taking a part in the Bad Things Happen Bingo.  
> https://badthingshappenbingo.tumblr.com/  
> Please mind the tags!
> 
> I'm cross-posting this to my tumblr, https://banashee.tumblr.com
> 
> This is my tenth square: "Cry into chest".  
> More Trigger Warnings are in the end notes.

****

**Raw around the edges**

Clint startles awake with a gasp, shooting up into a sitting position with his heart beating too fast, reaching for the knife that’s always wedged in between the wall and the mattress. He looks around and realizes that he’s home, in his own bed. The uneasiness doesn’t quite disappear though. Despite the throbbing headache, pain all over and heavy weight on his chest, he forces himself to get out of the bed. 

Slowly, too slowly really, he makes his way through the entire apartment, checking every single room, every hiding place and every door and window - it’s all secure, and he breathes a little more easily. His hand holding the knife is shaking, though. He sits down, trying to get his heartbeat and uneven breathing back under control.

‘ _They will come for you_ ’ a mean voice in the back of his head whispers, and the tremors running through his body get worse.

He’s not entirely sure how long he just sits there, holding the stealth knife in a tight grip and trying to pull himself together. The apartment around him is silent, since it is still night or at least very early in the morning, but he can’t make it out - if there was anything really loud going on he might be able to tell, or if something was happening very close to him. But as it is, he sits in silence and stares ahead, unseeing and with his eyes glossed over. Clint is exhausted, and all he wants is to crawl back to bed, but it takes him a while to gather enough strength for the way. 

Once he’s back under the covers, he notices the blink of his phone in between the sheets. He fishes it out, and is incredibly relieved to find that he’s got an answer from Phil. Multiple texts actually, the first one sent soon after Clint reached out, but he must have been too out of it to notice it then.

‘ _Are you OK? On the way back now, I’ll be there ASAP_.’

Then, a few more texts follow, increasing worry clear in them since he never answered. Clint feels bad about that - he’s never sent a text like he did last night, never outright asked for help like this, and it must have freaked Phil out for sure. 

His latest text is from two hours ago and it reads,

‘ _Got a hold of Nick, he told me what happened - I’ll be there soon, will call when I’m in the car._ ’

The relief is immediate, and Clint can feel his emotions bubble back up. He types a short reply.

‘ _Fell asleep, sorry. Thanks Phil’_

Instead of an text, he gets a call next and doesn’t need to look at the ID to know who it is. He pulls one of his hearing aids off the bedside table and answers the phone.

“Hey.” His voice sounds rough and unused. 

“Hey. How are you?” Phil asks, worry clear in his voice, but it feels so good to hear him - it’s been too long since they talked or met, and Clint had missed his best friend the entire time. Hearing him now, the calm and familiar voice that helped him through so many fucked up missions and bad days is an instant relief. 

“I’m alive.” he says, truthfully. He’s about to say more, but there is a lump in his throat, rising up painfully and he swallows it. 

“It won’t take long, only a few minutes until I’m there.” Phil promises. Then, he asks, “Do you want me to stay on the phone with you until then?”

Clint nods, even though Phil can’t see him right now, and he’s unable to hold back tears any longer. They’re hot and salty, dripping down onto the bed sheets while he fumbles on a lose thread with one hand.

“Please.” he says, and hates how desperate he sounds. 

What exactly it is that Phil is talking about until he reaches the apartment building, Clint wouldn’t be able to tell. He's mostly focusing on the sound of his voice, the familiarity and comfort that it is. He’s never had many friends to begin with, but right now, it looks like Phil is the only person he’s got left. Trusting anybody else doesn’t feel right, and the thought of it nearly sends him panicking, for a number of different reasons. 

But then, Phil says, “Okay, I’m outside now. Is it alright if I use the spare key you gave me?” and it kind of brings Clint back to reality. He looks up, pausing. Then he simply replies,

“Yeah, sure.” 

It doesn’t take long at all until Phil is inside and announces that he’s right in front of the door, asking if it is okay to come in and waits for Clint to say something. Waiting, just to give him an option - the control to decide to let him in instead of being forced to accept a decision that isn’t his own. It’s a small thing, but it means the world to him. 

“Come in. I’m upstairs.” 

When Phil walks into the room, he sees Clint in the half dark and his heart drops. He is sitting on the bed, looking way smaller than he actually is. He’s hunched over, clearly exhausted and when he looks up at the movement by the door after Phil told him he’ll come in, even in the low light it is clear that he’s been crying. 

Clint doesn’t say anything, just reaches out with one trembling hand and Phil settles down next to him - close but not yet touching, leaving that choice to Clint. But as soon as he’s there, he leans forward until he rests with his forehead against Phil’s chest, wrapping both arms around him and holding on for dear life. 

Phil hugs back and holds him close, keeping his hands at an awkward angle as to not directly touch Clint with them. It seems to be the right call, judging from the way he presses close to him - trusting and vulnerable in a way he’d never allow himself to be around anyone else. Soon, he’s shaking and sobbing in his arms.

It’s all that Phil can do to hold him close and keep him from falling apart at the seams, as he patiently waits for the worst of the storm to pass. 

He keeps talking to him in a low voice, about nothing and everything but most of all reassuring Clint that he’s safe and that it’s okay to let go. Phil knows from experience that he needs this kind of reassurance, permission really, for not having to hold back and process emotions when years and years before have taught him the opposite.

How long they remain like this, seated on the bed and wrapped around each other, neither of them would be able to tell.

Clint needs time to break down in peace and in a safe environment and despite the pain and the fear that is still lingering in his chest after everything, it feels good. He doesn’t have to watch his back and keep and eye on the surroundings, because he knows that Phil will do this for him for as long as he needs him to. So it’s safe to let go for a while.

When he is worn out and beyond exhausted from crying, he nearly dozes off, still firmly wrapped around Phil who let’s him cling. They end up laying down sideways and Clint falls asleep then, knowing that at least for now, he will be safe.

Clint ends up talking to Phil later, when the sun has vanished on the horizon and the cool night air is flowing through his apartment. 

They’re seated on the couch, mugs of black coffee in their hands, and it feels good to focus on the warmth seeping through the porcelain. 

He looks down and into the dark liquid, and his voice sounds far away, almost robotic as he starts talking about the mission, how it started out and how everything went wrong. The words and descriptions are clinical, without any attachment or emotion - it’s the only way he can get through this. 

The fact that Phil knows at least the broad picture, has been filled in by Fury, helps a lot. But Clint doesn’t leave anything out this time.

He talks about the way the plan had been changed without his knowledge or consent, and how he was forced to go undercover in the first place. 

He talks about the first encounter there and being strip searched, just a routine really, but traumatizing nonetheless - there are a number of reasons why he doesn’t usually do any work that requires close physical contact and Phil knows about them. After all, he was the one who pulled the right levers to protect Clint from these kinds of missions, always making sure he’ll get assigned to OPs that don’t require seduction or any kind of other intimate work. 

Shit happens sometimes, they all know this. But at least they try and weed out the biggest risks in that regard. And even if Phil hadn’t insisted it be that way, there is no use in needlessly traumatizing an agent with certain, specific triggers and have him unable to do his job as a result. So SHIELD is usually accommodating of this sort of thing.

Clint talks about the man in his cell, about what happened there and what happened all those years ago when he first met him. He talks about old memories and recent reminders, both equally painful, and by the end of it his hands are shaking too much and he needs to put down his mug, to avoid pouring hot liquid all over himself. But he keeps going on, keeps talking even when his entire body is trembling. 

He talks about pushing through and forcing himself to endure day after day in his own personal hell, even when he was convinced all of this has been a ploy to get rid of him. He's rushing through that particular part, because it hurts too much to linger there. Clint stops to take a deep breath when he finishes his report, trying to pull himself together. But he needs to ask, needs to know. So he does just that.

“Was this planned? Was all of... this” he gestures helplessly, “was all of this an attempt to get rid of me? I just, I know I’m not the easiest person to work with, and I know what people say behind my back. Dumb useless criminal and all that. Just… I need to know the truth. And I can’t trust anyone else. Please.”

He doesn’t look at Phil, not yet. He fiddles with the fabric of his pants, with pillows and blankets on the couch next to him - anything soft he can reach. Clint keeps breathing very carefully. If he doesn’t get this conversation done soon, he’ll start to freak out all over again. The lump in his throat is growing, and he dreads to hear an answer. 

Phil, on the other hand, looks directly at him and he is stunned by the question. His answer is firm nonetheless, and he remains calm, even when he wants to tear something apart. 

“Clint. Look at me, please.” 

He does. 

“None of this was planned, no one in any place of power want’s to remove you from the agency. I’m sorry this happened, but I promise you, no one ordered this. Taylor acted on his own. He was the one to give out your name and blame those crimes on you. We are looking into that, and Director Fury will update me as soon as he knows more, but you are safe with SHIELD and we will make this right. We will protect you. _I_ will always protect you, Clint.”

His asset, one of SHIELD’s most capable and successful agents, but most of all, his best friend is sitting in front of him in a broken, hurting heap of a person. Silent tears are dripping into his lap and he looks back down, wringing the corner of a woolen blanket in his shaking hands. Clint is afraid for his life and safety after this, afraid to lose everything he’d worked and fought hard for in the past few years. And understandably so - anyone would be if they were in his position.

“Okay.” he says, but it doesn’t sound like he fully believes it. 

If Phil ever finds out that any of this was caused by more than an incompetent, backstabbing handler and a lot of bad luck, then he will make people disappear. 

As it is now, he still might - no one hurts who he cares about and gets away with it. 

Then, Clint starts laughing. It’s far from happy, the polar opposite of it really - it sounds like he’s about to lose it at this point.

“I was actually dumb enough to think I could be anything other than a hired gun, or simply entertainment for some sick fuck. I thought that part of my life was over, but obviously not.” 

He shakes his head, laughing once again while his eyes are dull and dark with a sadness that is creeping through every single cell in his body. Clint pulls in on himself, refusing to be touched when Phil quietly offers him comfort, in an desperate attempt to help.

The words keep pouring out of his mouth, and it’s like he has lost all control at this point. Clint is talking, choppy and out of breath. Cold sweat makes his clothes uncomfortably sticky against his skin and he’s freezing cold - he doesn’t care or do anything about it. 

“I wanted to go. Fury wouldn’t let me. Said I should talk to someone.” He laughs again, and sounds more broken than ever. It’s even worse than before, when he’d spend many hours sobbing uncontrollably into the chest of Phil’s shirt.

“Sure, _go talk to someone.”_ Clint spits out. “Let them find me to throw back into this hellhole. No big deal.” 

Shaking his head once again, another awfully broken laugh leaves his throat and it turns into desperate, hysterical sobs. 

He buries his hands in his shaggy blond hair, tugging on it and slightly rocking himself back and forth. He’s out of it, doesn’t seem to notice he’s even doing it. But he’s barely holding onto sanity with his fingertips. 

Phil needs to sit on his hands. Everything in him, every instinct is screaming at him to do something, to comfort, hold him close and to protect. But Clint has made it clear that he doesn't want to be touched right now, and he will respect that. Instead of invading his space, he keeps talking to him. Repeated assurances that he is safe, mostly. 

After a while, he seems to get through to him, and the muttering stops, as does the rocking. Clint leans closer to him again, and Phil asks if it is okay to come closer, getting a nod in response. He carefully, slowly, wraps both arms around his best friend once again, and despite everything, Clint is leaning into the gentle touch and hugging back as hard as he can, refusing to let go. 

It is a long and hard way to go from there, but it’s a start.

Over time, Phil manages to get through to him enough that he finally believes that no one is after him anymore, which is big. He also helps him find a professional to talk to, to work through old and new issues that this mission has brought to light - some days are worse than others, and Clint has a hard time trusting then. But Phil is right there, helping him in any way he can. 

One day after a therapy session, Clint tells him over coffee,

“I don’t know if I want to go back.” 

Phil nods, knowing exactly what he’s talking about and waiting for him to go on.

“I don’t know yet. But I might.” he admits then and drinks a few sips of his coffee in silence. He sits with his legs folded up under him and in a cozy corner of Phil’s couch. It’s evening, but time means little to him these days. And he needs the caffeine to stay alert, even more now than he did before. 

Phil nods again, considering his words for a moment.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to rush that decision.” is what he settles on - it’s vague enough for Clint to choose on his own terms how much he wants to say about the matter right now. He hums into his mug, thinking about that for a moment.

“It’s just-” he begins, and it looks like he might leave the sentence unfinished. But then he thinks better of it and continues,

“I still don’t know for sure who I can trust. Don’t wanna test that, really. But I also worked my ass off to get where I was - am. Whatever. Don’t wanna lose that, or waste anything.” Clint is chewing on his bottom lip for a few moments, and Phil waits patiently for him to get his thoughts in order and to continue on his own terms. This is how a lot of their conversations go these days, but it works out and that is all that counts, really. 

“Don’t wanna lose you, most of all.” Clint quietly admits then and he doesn’t look up.

“You won’t lose me, no matter what you want to do in the end. Just so you know. I’ll have your back and support you regardless of your employment at SHIELD.” Phil looks over at his friend, who is slowly but steadily healing and getting better. He’d do anything for Clint - he’s known that before, but he’s even more certain of it now. 

Phil has had the opportunity to deal with Agent Taylor shortly after his return - this man won’t do harm to anyone else, never again. He also made sure that Taylor will be neither found nor missed.

“You mean a lot to me, Clint.” Phil says then, and the younger man smiles at that. It's a small, real smile that actually reaches his eyes. 

“You, too. Thanks by the way. For being there.” he replies, and leans over to rest his head on Phil for a moment. In response, he simply wraps an arm around him and leans back into him - the two of them don’t need a lot of words. 

“Anytime.”

*+~

Square: **Cry into chest**

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings:
> 
> \- Nothing graphic, but Rape Aftermath  
> \- Breakdown, mental health issues, PTSD  
> \- Trauma processing  
> \- paranoia


End file.
